


Ordeal Of Being Known

by BelleIllumina



Category: Dress Up! Time Princess (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Divergent, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Magic Lamp, Possibly Slowburn, some heavy topics came up, spoilers on Chapur, tw: abuse, tw: bad coping mechanisms, tw: trauma, way out of canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27971246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelleIllumina/pseuds/BelleIllumina
Summary: "If we want the rewards of being loved, we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known." - Tim Kreider"Chapur." She squeezed his shoulders and smiled all her thanks. "Are you the monster in the next room? Or, did you need to become one too and no longer know how to stop?"His lips parted and she shook her head. He pressed his lips together."Or can you not stop yet because your monsters are still around?"His brows furrowed. In the stillness, she felt his tension.----------Not Beta-ReadChapur/OC - Canon is only up until 1-12
Relationships: Chapur (Dress Up! Time Princess)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	1. Invitation Thrown to the World

When one communicated an experience that so few went through, one would fall to comparisons. Reference something more common to be able to share it. Find the closest, yet broadest, experience. Start it from a point of lesser magnitude and expand it, step by step.

There were many ways to do so too.

Depth of emotion.

Expanse of wonder.

Level of intensity.

Comparisons upon comparisons. Attempt after attempt. To throw an invitation out there to the world, to come and join this path walked even just for some time. To come and wear these shoes even for a bit. And of course, when one throws an invitation, there were bound to be responses.

Parties upon parties of people—

~~—looking to the road trodden upon and realized they're too busy and too weighted by the roads they're already treading.~~

~~—stepping beside you only to trip you over with a grin and a laugh.~~

~~—walking beside you only to slowly climb over you, push you down to the ground, sit down on you and enjoy as you crawl.~~

—trying to match up, getting close, but never really matching.

Comparisons upon comparisons.

Some of them would get close.

Then in return—

To some of us, that could be an offense. The exchange seen as an attempt to intrusion for someone unprepared for it. A ladder being built against a fortress wall.

To some of us, that could be enough. The exchange itself an experience appreciated and welcomed. A bridge built from two ends and meeting in the middle, no longer alone.

For it's a truth that there would never be a complete understanding, never an exactly matching perspective and way of thinking.

But they tried, and that fact couldn't be denied. They would often share their own comparisons as well. And from these common experiences, a foundation was built where further understanding would be grown through communication.

An adventure to truth and the exchanges of it.

Ah, communication.

So…

What did one do when the want to communicate and to make comparisons drags its way up their throat, but there's no one there that would even come close to fulfill the needed level of understanding? Or just to speak the language that would be understood in the first place?

Well for this woman, the first step was to run. Run from bare apartment walls that loomed over and threatened to suffocate. From an emptiness that could swallow her whole. Run, from circumstances and consequences that were real and beyond what she could presently handle.

Run, because control was slipping.

Run, because the _too much_ she'd been forced to keep within was bleeding—demanding—forcing its way out.

Run, because the bare walls felt more like a prison cell compared to the wide open sky.

So there, on one of the roofs of Sinbad's abode, she sat. A small shadow that could be easily missed against the deep purplish-blue of the star-filled sky. How long she's been sitting there, she didn't know. How long she's been staring at nothing, she hardly could keep track. All she knew was that the _too much_ within her was still _too much,_ and that whatever beauty and peace she was surrounded by, didn't work.

She gritted her teeth in a poor attempt to keep the _too much_ in. It was _too much_ that it's already in her throat after all, while still banging her ribs. It was _too much_ that it twisted her stomach while still slamming against her teeth.

And so, she stood and moved to leave the roof. She slipped back into Gina's room as if the night was never disturbed.

"Gina."

She needed—

"Gina." A figure in blue, reached out to touch. A hand wrapping around a sun-kissed arm. Light in a darkened room. There was a flinch. From her. Then, a pull. Still from her. Then multiple blinks. Actions in immediate succession, instinctual. Light held tighter, just enough to stabilize. "Gina, it's just me."

Blink. Blink. Blink.

"Light. You're awake." She exhaled. A long one that hissed softly through still gritted teeth. Within those moments, she bargained with her body and her mind to relax, to calm every instinct that screamed danger in her mind. It was hard, when memories for two beings were roused and there's only one conscious there trying to comprehend them.

"I know that you've been sneaking out on my behalf and that you're more capable than I expect you to be, but try not to disappear without giving me any clue where when you always gave me word—"

The words continued, she was sure. She didn't hear them.

> _Fight?_
> 
> Who's the enemy?
> 
> _Light._
> 
> Why is he the enemy?
> 
> _He's holding your arm and pulling. Hurting you like—_
> 
> No. He's not even holding too tight.
> 
> _He's scolding you, like—_
> 
> No. He's just—
> 
> _He's going to raise his voice soon. He will, like—_
> 
> No, he won't. He's just—
> 
> _Fight._
> 
> No.
> 
> _Fight, or he will hurt you._
> 
> He never did. He would never. He's just—
> 
> _FIGHT_.
> 
> WORRIED.

Words were still being spoken. Sounds existing but nothing else beyond it.

> _Flight then._
> 
> Why?
> 
> _Because you won't fight._
> 
> But he's not going to hurt me. No one is—
> 
> _Because, remember?_
> 
> No. Not now.
> 
> _That's what you told yourself, again and again._
> 
> This is different.
> 
> _"He's not going to hurt me."_
> 
> Stop.
> 
> _"He cares."_
> 
> Stop.
> 
> _"He loves."_
> 
> Don't.
> 
> _"I'm doing this for my family."_
> 
> Wait.
> 
> _"The money would be enough for them to last at least a year."_
> 
> That's not mine.
> 
> _"If we be good enough, we wouldn't be hurt."_

"Gina!"

She pulled away, wrenching away her arm and taking a few steps back. Wide eyed and realizing that Light was looking at her with an expression that she couldn't determine. Something in between, maybe? Shock and confusion? Surprise and worry?

> _He raised his voice._
> 
> That's not enough a reason.

The expression settled to worry, and Light made an attempt to step closer before hesitating.

> _He's going to manipulate you now._
> 
> No. Stop. Enough. He's not my enemy. No one here is my enemy.
> 
> _Then who?_
> 
> Not Sinbad. Not Light. Not Samar. Not even Kahir or the Queen.
> 
> _Then who?_
> 
> Not even the slavers.
> 
> _THEY HURT US._
> 
> Not me. Not me. That's not mine. Don't mix it all up.
> 
> _Then who?_

"Did something happen, Gina?" Gentler, this time. Worry bleeding like blood from him. It showed in how careful he was when moving. She held onto it. He cared. To some degree and even in the slightest sense. He cared. "Nightmares?"

"Yes." She took the excuse and used it as a lifeline. Put herself into it with a dedication of someone that's drowning and gasping for air. "Yes. I'm sorry. It was just so vivid this time. I needed time alone to breathe and it's not your fault. Thank you for worrying, it's just that, I needed to get myself out, immediately."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

> _They would always hit you with a backhand and shout that you're quite the useless slave._
> 
> That's not mine.
> 
> _Yes, but you took what's given as the excuse. Better carry on with it._
> 
> But not her _too much_. Not now.
> 
> _But yes to a tactile and definite enemy?_
> 
> …
> 
> _Ah. How about the want to be free? That's something you both have._
> 
> Focus.
> 
> _"Someday, we'll bring all of them down in a wonder, beautiful, burning heap."_
> 
> Not the right time.
> 
> _"Someday, we'll destroy them as they destroyed us."_
> 
> Too much.
> 
> _We've survived with too much for so long, haven't we?_

"Gina."

> I am not Gina.

"Talk to me."

Talk to him. Talk to him. Talk to him using comparisons. Talk to him in a calm that was far from what she felt. In a peace that she wanted to destroy. In a quiet that was too haunting.

"You are too good, too kind _." Too pure._ Words stuck unspoken. She raced for the door, hands already stretched out to pull it open. " I can't. Not right now. I'll just walk around. I need to be alone, Light. Please."

> _So flight then. How much a flight?_

She was out the door without a care how loud or how soft she opened it. Down the stairs. Out the servants' main door. Movements practiced aplenty of times because of survival instinct. Out to the streets.

> _How much a flight?_
> 
> Shut up.

Out. To the borders.

Out beyond it.

She took every step with as much force as she could exert, for her body was vibrating with the _too much._ A scream stuck ready to wage battle with her, like a choking rope of bright red. She marched, because running felt like fleeing and fleeing made her feel so powerless.

"Not now, Gina." She hissed to the _too much_ that she knew wasn't hers. It was rising and wanting to be acknowledged. Rising and reaching out to meld with her. _Too much. Too much._ Especially when all she needed was to be able to navigate the alleyways. "I just need your knowledge of the desert. Nothing else for now."

> _We could just leave. You know that, right? Close the book and restart the chapter later._

Why did she choose this book for tonight in the first place? When she could've chosen Queen Marie Antoinette and basked in a power that was already given. Magnificence and grace. Influence. Why not be Elizabeth Colvin, with her ability to set aside emotions? Coldness and practicality. Logic.

Why Gina?

Gina, who was far from the powerful Antoinette. A slip of a woman that could easily be invisible when the too beautiful Queen could only barely keep her identity secret in her masques. A slave so far from the center of power that she would never need to think of leading the people, had this not been a story that had a once already set happy ending.

Gina, with a determination that was more explosive and emotional by default compared to Elizabeth's first step of wanting the truth. A woman of nothing, so far from being able to harness said emotions to a single point and use it to smite down the world. She who would rather be in the streets starting revolts than hunt for a truth, because she already lived through it.

Gina, who she had long realized was so similar to herself.

Who wanted to be free. Who wanted to just live. Who wanted to be able to take hold of her life and make her own decisions.

Who understood like breathing, what it was like surviving to a belief that being in pain meant being alive. Being in pain, meant existence. Being in pain, meant the fight continued. And pain was better than surrender, because there the gnawing emptiness awaited.

But unlike her, Gina came out of it all with a pure heart still. She didn't.

So upon the golden sea of sand, muted by the night, she walked. Until she was far enough to not disturb anyone. Then, even farther.

She stopped when she could no longer see the roofs of the buildings and there was nothing else around her but sand and the sky. Then, she tightened her fists until they're white knuckled and she could clearly feel her nails digging in.

And she screamed.

Screamed the fury in her veins that wreaked havoc.

Screamed the pain that squeezed her heart and lungs.

Screamed for all the injustice, unfairness and hardship lived.

Screamed for only knowing survival that only now she realized, she never had an idea on what living was like.

Then, she screamed some more.

For Gina, and all that she went through but was never written. Instead kept between the lines. She now had space enough to accept. Also, because it's proper to be respectful and kind to the body being borrowed.

Screamed, until she's no longer standing and she's slumped on her knees.

Then, she stopped.

And watched.

The horizon barely changed. Star-filled sky above her. Golden desert, beneath. Her screams were swallowed to nothingness and the moment it did, the sounds of the night returned to continue its reign once more. The sand shifted to her movements, finding its way to the crevices of her clothes and skin.

Here, even this world carried on. It didn't echo her anger, nor did it soothe or calm her. It didn't even acknowledge the damage she wanted to make. The mark, that she was there and that she existed. That something changed.

It stayed undisturbed and stable, even with all its magic and fantasy.

She closed her eyes and breathed. With each breath, she took inventory. Her lungs no longer felt like they're being squeezed. Her heart, lighter. Her throat, though hurt and scratchy, didn't feel like it was being choked.

The _too much_ no longer raging and demanding. Unsatisfied, yes, but no longer raging. Exhaustion a good enough replacement.

She didn't hurt anyone in the process too. Imaginary or otherwise.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

_Thump._ She flinched, whirling to where the sound came from as it didn't sound natural. It was metal, she was sure. Awareness yanked immediately to the forefront and forced to process. Catching up.

"You're still shaking, angry girl."

She didn't know how long it took, but when it did, a cacophony of thoughts and emotions crowded for attention.

Primary of them were the discovered truths of the magic that built this impossibility. The irony of it in relation to what was happening to her followed closely. Because condensed to its most simple truth, this was nothing more than playground, with her as its sole audience and re-creator. And what a cliché that it would be him, that finds her.

"Chapur." No hint of softness in his stance, only ease in the menace and threat he often enforced. Arrogance perfectly mastered to be infused in his deep voice. A pillar of black and purple, made even darker by the night. Ominous. Cold. "Working, Royal Astrologer?"

She could feel him watching her, measuring her up.

> _Fight._
> 
> Why?
> 
> _He's the enemy, is he not? The villain of this story._
> 
> Yes, but—
> 
> _Yes. But?_
> 
> He—
> 
> _Yes. But?_

She smiled and knew that it didn't reach her eyes. Knew that he knew. Knew that he had established a belief that she was a poor liar, after all. It would be just a wasted effort to prove him wrong when it's just for the proving.

She kept smiling and let her sudden panic die down. Let expectations of what would come next line up. Let patterns of interactions in the past and the tropes she believed he fell into determine said expectations.

Of all the expectations she had, which weren't really much, Chapur moving towards her and unraveling his cloak wasn't one of them. Him dropping said cloak over her head, blocking her sight, was definitely something he would do though, just to irritate her.

"Warm yourself, angry girl." That too. As she scrambled to get the cloak off her head, she could clearly imagine the disdain and the smirk on his face. Quite a contrast with the warmth and fragrance that enveloped her. "I won't have you die on my watch, especially for something so simple as a chill."

She huffed when she finally wrapped his cloak around her, the green orb ending up settled on her lap and cradled in her palms. Its weight was a surprise and a strange comfort. Almost grounding. She fiddled with the tassel, her smile shifting to something she genuinely felt. She wrapped its threads around her fingers, curling it around and then pulling them free. Fascinated at how it never stayed curled even for a moment longer.

Wrap. Curl. Pull. Watch.

Surprisingly, in that span of silence, she felt warmth filling her to the toes.

Wrap. Curl. Pull. Watch.

Tassels as stubborn as the man that owns them. She chuckled.

Wrap. Curl. Pull. Watch.

There was another thump and then, the movement of fabric. Footsteps muffled by sand, heralded by its shifting. She felt his presence much closer and it was enough to make her look up.

He was close. Closer. Crouching beside her an armlength away. Closer that she could actually see his eyes. Obsidian looking at her with further furrowed brows. A scrunch that made her want to reach out and smooth it away. The urge sudden and strong, accompanied with a curiosity of textures and reactions.

How far could she even go? Would he even allow?

Maybe? Maybe another time.

She broke the gaze and stared back to the horizon.

Wrap. Curl. Pull. Watch.

"I don't understand you." She let the words disturb the silence and waited as it faded undisturbed, without a reply. She continued. "You threaten, twist and manipulate. A man of power, both in influence and strength. You also have the Prime Minister under your thumb."

If they were in the palace, under the glare and heat of the sun, she was sure that if she looked at him now, he would be raising a brow in intrigue and even sneer. A retort like barbed wire dragged against skin ready to be delivered.

"You can easily frame my death, search my room for the lamp, and then go about working to achieve the vengeance you wanted. " She didn't look. They weren't under the sun. The charge in the air wasn't of animosity.

"Why do you want me to do so?"

They weren't under the light. Wrap. Curl. Pull. There was no animosity.

"It's the most practical way." She shrugged. "You would've gotten the lamp sooner and with fewer complications. If your vengeance was just ultimate destruction and not a usurping of power, then you could've just killed me, taken the lamp, destroyed that you wish to eradicate, then moved on. Off to the next stage of your life."

He chuckled. A deep and short sound that caught her attention. Had her turn before she could even catch herself. What she saw, had her heart clenching.

He crouched there, arms stretched out before him with his elbows on his knees. His gaze toward the stars. The lift of his brows of an exhaustion too familiar. The smile on his lips, an understanding of the irony of the world.

His eyes.

Oh, why could she not see that in sufficient light?

Oh, if only there was right then.

It would've been warm chocolate in a rainy day. A mix of melancholia and comfort.

"Instead, I keep you alive. Here to experience another life altogether." Cloaked in the darkness, with only the sky and the desert to hear. His voice was low, roughened by nightmares like those times she just sneaked right into. Like those invitations for just one story of his past, that she couldn't deny. "Another life. Loved by a Prince. Treasured by his Queen Mother. Adopted by one of the so-called adventurers of the world. Holding a Magic Lamp and whatever power laid within."

Ah. There. She hummed and found herself amused. Of course, he was aware. Her suspicions confirmed.

A game of power balance and of ever testing sincerity. Of almost comfort. Of doubt and of not being blindsided again.

Of not wanting to be alone, but never letting anyone close enough.

"His name is Sinbad."

"Of course."

"You really do not like him."

She took his silence as agreement.

"But, you respect him and his achievements."

"His achievements have use."

Close enough.

His face didn't show any expression, body unmoving. However, his dismissive tone held a gruff respect. An acknowledgement to a tenacity that not many had. In a kinder world, maybe they could've been friends. Opposites in their fields of interests and expertise, but finding common ground either way.

A magician and an adventurer. Maybe she would find a story that would fulfill such craving. Maybe she would write a story of her own about it, someday.

A relationship that was grounded on finding use of each other. Of being forced to work together. Of daring rescues and amusing banters. Of hardened men that took different paths of coping and living, learning from each other and growing to be better.

Maybe.

"Go home." She blinked in surprise, pulling herself out of her thoughts. Found him moving to sit and fold his legs together. "You are still shivering."

"Is that a threat?"

His brow raised. "An instruction. An observation."

It was her turn to chuckle.

"Will you listen to a story of my past, this time around?" She waited for him to turn to her. To see if he caught on the weight she put in those words.

When he did, there was no intrigue or teasing. No air of superiority or a dare for her to take. Instead, there was an openness that she was privy to. Like those nights she chose to sit on the nearest chair, instead of fleeing, when he had asked the very same question. There was no expectation, just patience for whatever her story would be and whenever it would start. An understanding that what would be spoken would only stay under the night's sky rule.

"I will."

She sighed, realizing that she had been waiting and hoping. Preparing, to be proven wrong and be dismissed. She bowed her head and whispered her thanks. Reverent. There was barely a change in his expression when she looked up. She smiled to him anyway before turning back to the horizon.

She took a deep breath. Exhaled with a decision reached and a recklessness she knew she would wonder about in the following days.

"I grew up and lived in a house where there's a monster in the next room." She looked down to the orb and the tassel. Wrap. Curl. Pull. She watched as the threads straightened, yielding only for so few moments. She shifted and then started braiding the threads, another test on how long it would yield when she let go. "Oh, the monster moved around the house, lived and breathed, but I remember it the most as a being in the next room."

The braid held just a bit longer than the curls with how thick she did it. Without something to hold it together, it unraveled and straightened like every attempt.

"I lived my day to day flipping between being ever aware of its existence, always hearing every movement and every sound, or losing touch of it because that's the only way to not lose touch of myself. I lived knowing that there's a threat where there was supposed to be safety and there's only so much I could do to protect myself and those I care about." She tried something thinner and started braiding. "What I am familiar with is a vigilance to protect those I care about while trying not to break myself. To do everything I could to survive living with the monster in the next room, hoping that we get out."

It didn't hold.

"I used to pray for a magic that could just fix everything. For the monster to be good so that I could actually learn to love it as society dictated. For someone to please come and take us away." She tried something even thinner. "It didn't work."

And even thinner. She smiled.

"You know which prayer got answered?" She chuckled and unraveled the braid she was making because she did a part wrong. "It's not a prayer, really. I've long stopped praying by then."

Her lips quirked. She's getting close. The braid almost unraveled, but it held almost halfway. She unraveled it completely and adjusted the thickness. Trial and error. Braid. Unravel. Adjust. Braid again.

"I decided," She carefully did each section, wanting to see if this attempt would finally fully hold. "That I would learn how to be a monster. Enough to survive and enough to fight in the games that the monster set. I will be the monster so those I care about no longer needed to. I'll be a monster that would go to the forefront and fight and win."

She finished the braid and let go. Waited while counting her breath. Waited in silence as she wondered if this was the right one.

Waited with growing excitement.

It held. It held even without a bind and she smiled wide.

"I grew stronger." She started taking a thinner section at the end tail of the braid. "The monster grew old. At some point, we got out."

She twisted it around and finished it in a knot. A proper braid, thin though it was, that held without a bind and would be kept together because of a bind. How different it looked against the other loose threads. How it broke the pattern and the crowd.

There. Her mark.

Just a little. Removable, but there for this moment.

"It was only after that I realized, I never really knew what it is like to not be a monster. To not be a victim. To not be a survivor."

A few of plenty realizations that froze her amid routine tasks.

A pause in the bath, a realization that she didn't really know who she was if all was normal as society dictated.

A pause in the middle of walking, stopping in the middle of a flow of people, hit by a truth that she didn't know what to do to go past survival.

A pause. How can one actually tell if they are happy?

A pause.

Did she ever really lived?

"I am far from brave." She held the orb before her and watched as the braid was pulled back into the middle of the tassel, hidden by all the threads. She grinned. "But, I try."

Try because that's all she knew she could do. Try to learn. Try to explore an unknown she had a glimpse of but never really had an understanding of. Every step and half-step made, threatened by a retreat to the harmful familiar and bolstered by a bargain to herself. Fueled by a desperation and an innate fear.

"I try, because I don't ever want to return to that monster and into that snake pit it lived in, ever again." She often failed in those steps, starting so many things but barely finishing. A war with her mind as it whispered self-sabotage. "I try, because the time to be a monster is done."

She set the orb back to her lap, and finally turned to him.

Found understanding in the eyes of the villain of the story.

> _Ah. That but._
> 
> Yes. That but.

For Light and Kahir would always pursue the good, would always hold onto it. They would fight for it and because of it without letting go of the core that they've decided was theirs. They could be forced through hell or willingly go through it, but their goodness would come out intact and singing. They would sacrifice their very lives for the good that they believed in.

Those two were children of the morning. Blazing beacons that would fight to stay alight amid the darkness. They would go forth to the gray and welcome all those that would come to their abode and their safe havens. Nurture those broken with their love and support and their care.

But they were too bright, even in all their flaws and their cracks.

Too bright that they scare away all those that were in the black and the dark for so long. Those that could barely even look at it.

"I am still learning how to stop being a monster." She broke through the silence, pushing herself to stand. She shook the cloak and felt the sand fall to her feet. Found amusement when she finally felt the chill of the night against her legs.

She unwrapped the cloak around her and crossed the distance between them. He followed her with his gaze, his head tilting up to watch her. There was no mockery, no mischief, but there was surprise in those eyes.

She dropped the cloak around his shoulders, closest she could to how he often wore it. Smiled at how lopsided it still looked. She patted his shoulders and hummed, good enough.

"Do not ask of me to carry on being a monster just to win." She murmured, knowing he heard. Knowing he was listening. "It is too familiar and too easy to do so."

She watched him blink, his long lashes sweeping against his cheeks like butterfly wings. His hand raising to his shoulder to cover her own hand. Realized that this was the closest they had been without animosity or harmful intents.

"Chapur." She squeezed his shoulders and smiled all her thanks. "Are you the monster in the next room? Or, did you need to become one too and no longer know how to stop?"

His lips parted and she shook her head. He pressed his lips together.

"Or can you not stop yet because your monsters are still around?"

His brows furrowed. In the stillness, she felt his tension.

She gave him a few moments to relax, but it stayed, his muscles hardened under the layers of his clothing. She pulled away, stepping back until they're once more an armlength apart.

"When you have the answer and are ready to share, I will listen."

His hand fell back to his lap.

"Not that you would really remember."

Because the moment she opened her mouth to tell him her story, she had decided. She wouldn't finish this chapter. She wouldn't let this be written. She wouldn't let him remember, for she wanted to push the magic of the Story Desk. She wanted to test them. She wanted to see if they would push back or break.

"Will you let me?"

Her eyes widened. There, the suspicion and the annoyance. His eyes retained some softness, but his whole face shifted to a predator ready to pounce. Of a man ready to get the information they needed.

"Will you let me, _body borrower_?"

_Oh, the bastard._ Questions crowded in her mouth, her teeth biting her tongue to keep them all in. Surprise felt only for a moment. An emotion filled her chest and had her heart pumping. Fear and Excitement battling to be the label for it.

She tried not to smile, but she was sure her eyes were bright enough to be a tell.

"Was it the life story that gave it away?"

His lips finally curved to that smirk. "The truth that you gave me was the confirmation. You reek of magic the moment we met."

"So you were keeping me alive to figure which?"

"Among other things."

She grinned.

"If you do remember and you do have an answer to share, I will listen."

"And you will talk."

"Maybe."

"Starting with your name."

"If, Chapur."

"When."

"Prove me wrong, magician. I welcome you to do so."

She pulled herself out and disconnected with the magic. The sensation something she still couldn't get used to. The pull so similar to unsticking herself from something that's swallowing her whole. The sting akin to a slap from drowning or from a daze. She gasped, as she always did, and struggled to open her eyes, struggled to actually feel reality.

To stop feeling the chill of the night.

To shift awareness to the very change in the air she breathe.

To find the fit in the body that was truly hers.

To separate from the body borrowed. To know once more who she knew she was.

She opened her eyes just in time to catch the written word in the book before her being erased. The ink spreading and bleeding on the pages before disappearing.

"Another failed chapter." Isabel's voice, small but clear, beside her. The flutter of her wings almost too loud in the silence. "You come and finally actually sit down after a week of nothing and you don't even progress enough to finish a chapter. You could've at least gathered information or something."

She pushed away from the table and the story desk on it, leaning back her chair and staring at the ceiling. She gulped for breath and loosen her body slowly.

She pushed anything that was still Gina's, leftovers or influences or whatever it was, to the back of her head.

She took another breath. Another and another. Until she felt her lungs actually moving, expanding. Then, she curled her fingers, one after another. One hand, then the other. Then, into a fist. Squeezing. Loosening. Digging until she could recognize the pain.

Numbness to feeling.

She raised her hands after, covering her face and then taking a deep breath.

"Isabel."

"Yes?"

"You've stopped caring of the very contents of everything in those books." She hid her grin and curved her tone to teasing. To not show the effect of what happened and the excitement that she was still trying to calm. To not let her expectations and her hopes to something realistic. "Especially when you realized that it's me that _inherited_ the story desk."

"Oh, definitely!" A flutter of wings. She was sure, Isabel was moving around with her hands moving to gestures as fast as her wings were. "You. Also, how dare did the original line stop taking care of the Story Desk! You. A stranger. An outsider. A—"

"A poor enough—"

"—person not even able to acquire the others!"

"I didn't need such fancy scissors or a sewing machine, or whatever the others were."

"Maud! Lovecraft! Rin! Petal! Gifford!" The fury was back. "How dare they separate us when we are a set!"

She shrugged and let her hands fall. Her smile now of comfort to the little Fae.

"I am sorry." She held out her hand and waited until Isabel sat herself on her palm. "I tried my best, but I am a more a storyteller than a craftsman."

"And the stories you're leading are too long and too complicated. Too many lines being followed. Too many things being built. I do not like it." Isabel sighed.

But.

But.

"But the magic reacts to you. The magic needs you."


	2. Threads and Traces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of which there is trying and a lot of "Maybe".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is self-indulgent. Unbeta-ed. There most likely would be spelling errors and grammar ones.

He woke up with a strangled scream.

A sound he would never admit, muffled to a groan by gritted teeth. A practiced action done long enough that it was now instinct. The rest of its volume and the breath it needed, stuck in his chest like a tangle of knots.

A large one still left unacknowledged. Growing larger, knowingly ignored.

He woke up like a man drowning pulled up for air. Sweat drenched his bed. Muscles stiff with tension. His eyes, wide but unseeing.

From the weight of a nightmare as long as a life lived, its voices swamping him with calls and accusations he had learned to muffle. Their content was memorized years before. Their presence, large enough to be tactile lodged in his chest and his diaphragm.

The voices pounded. That he couldn't deny. A kick to start his shriveled heart to beat.

_You lived. You lived and we died._

Pounding.

_Everything is gone. Yet you remain. Why? Walking over all the dirt of our corpses._

Pounding.

Statements that chilled him to the very bones and sinew. He closed his eyes.

_Of all the times to wake up, why only now? You should be dead._

A walking corpse. A breathing ghost.

He choked down the words that often crowded his mouth as answers. Old pleas that didn't have any use. Repetitive bargains unanswered. Wishes that were merely that.

Useless to him, now.

He took a deep breath and forced the sluggishness in his body to yield. The weight to be set aside. And to exist in the present. To push the chill gone. He pushed himself to sitting and ran his fingers through his hair, tugging. The pain on his scalp an attempt to ground him.

He groaned, an exhale of the breath stuck in his chest, and searched for the fastest and easiest way to dispel the chill.

Pounding. Closer.

His brows furrowed at the pressure in his temples that finally made itself known.

Pounding. Louder, too. It shouldn't be that loud.

He tensed his jaw and grit his teeth.

Pounding. Wood. The jangle of metal. More wood.

This early in the morning. "—pur! Sir!?"

His eyes snapped open and he felt a blaze of something familiar pushing the chill to his toes and out. Useful. Easy. Fast.

Irritation.

Annoyance.

Anger.

Fires that he could start as easy as breathing.

"What!?"

The banging stopped and the sound was swallowed to silence so quickly. It would've been amusing, if not for the fact that he was the Royal Astrologer and it was early in the morning. And that's just the top of the list.

"What!? You pound my door and then go quiet?"

He untangled the blankets around him and pushed himself to his feet. Marched to the door and pulled the tunic, one he carelessly flung to the nightstand the night before, over his head.

He paused halfway.

His gaze slid to the nearest chair to the foot of his bed. Hoping it was occupied, seeing it was not. Realizing who he wanted to be sitting there, remembering it so clearly. Feeling the presence of space-time magic, so familiar, but so different at the same time. Enough to be sensed, but severely not enough to be studied and known.

He looked towards the window, found it latched closed. He frowned. That meant she didn't sneak in last night, yet her presence was much stronger than he usually felt when he was left alone.

He moved to the window and opened it, looked out. Nothing. Looked down and found the ground undisturbed. Nothing.

He frowned harder as he closed and relatched the window.

"Sir? You there?"

What happened? He reviewed his memory and found nothing out of the ordinary. They were yet to cross paths recently, with the plans he was preparing and setting to motion.

"It's the Prime Minister."

Was it his magic then? His awareness and sensitivity? Or was it of another magic he didn't notice before?

"He wanted to know about what the arrangement you had for tonight. Demands more details of the plan because he is too important to be kept in the dark, Sir."

Too important. Too important?

The Prime Minister. The absolute spineless coward. A man that deserved a long death just for the mere fact that he would most likely squeal like a pig and would beg as soon as death was upon his threshold. A man that could fall as easily as one would trip. Let him roll down the stairs and be a tangle of fabrics too colorful and too eye-catching. A bird choking in its own feathers.

It would be a marvelous show, if not for the truth that the coward wasn't worth all that time. Might be a Fatih, but not the one on top of his lists.

He opened the door and found a boy staring up at him.

A boy. A thin boy with a missing front tooth smiled at him. Energy uneasy but daring. Hair sticking in all directions and servant's clothes worn askew.

Questions piled up and lined up. Along with it were memories and comparisons to those memories that he cut off before they got their way.

_You lived. While we died._

"Your name."

"Alvan, Sir." The smile shifted to a smirk full of pride.

"Boy."

"Alvan, Sir." There's mischief dancing in those eyes too. And wariness. And a false bravado hiding further unease. "Would you be giving an answer to pass to the Prime Minister?"

_There was a young boy, once too. One that smiled with a warmth of a hearth in a loving home._

A young boy long dead. He dared not even bring up the name as it teased him from the edges of his mind.

"Boy."

"Alvan."

"Boy."

"Sir."

"Stop." He pressed his fingers against his temples and closed his eyes.

"Well, you keep saying _boy_ , Sir."

"How did you get this deep into my quarters?"

Before he opened his gaze, he was sure the boy was still grinning. Grinning even wider. Almost like the sun, if the sun was a boy with a missing tooth.

"Well, the Prime Minister said that the guards and other servants are too soft and useless when waking or finding you, because whatever pounding from the main door couldn't wake or even get to you." That was the main point of having receiving quarters and even more quarters outside his bedroom. To stop pests from disturbing him when he's not in the Astrology Tower. "So, he went down the dungeons and looked for me."

"The dungeons?"

"Yes." A shrug. "Remembered me after a couple of years of putting me in there. Told me all I have to do if I wanna keep breathing is to wake you up and give you his morning messages."

Morning messages. He tampered a growl.

"Why were you put in the dungeons?"

"Stealing something of the Prime Minister's." Another shrug. "All by mistake."

He stared him down. Clued in by what could've happened knowing the coward enough. Wanting the truth still.

"What, Sir?"

He stared.

"Well, his locks were absolutely dismal back then. Different now, yes, still dismal. Yours were harder, additional locks and all. And, well, it's been a couple of years."

He stepped back and left the boy by the door of his bedroom, went to his wardrobe. His mind racing through plans and backup plans of making the stupid coward come to heel. To reestablish the dynamic on who had power in the first place.

Tunic. Pants. All the rest. Blacks and purples that he couldn't be bothered to changing.

"Would you be changing your extra locks, Sir?"

He didn't answer, knowing full well that the boy would keep talking. Also, because he wasn't bound to inform anyone. After all, anyone that dared would find a way. There was always one that found a way.

"You know, for a challenge? Need to keep my skills up."

The chair nearest to his bed was too empty.

"Not planning to steal anything, of course. Not now. Just need to keep m'hands occupied. Would actually help the security of this place too, updating everything."

"Why didn't you escape the dungeons given that you could?"

The pause had him turning back and look at the boy. Found him chewing his words and his brows furrowed. Ah. He waited.

"There's sure food, every day."

Truth, but not the whole truth. He nodded and waved him away. "Sit down. Have a snack. Don't touch anything you shouldn't."

"Can I have some of your breakfast?"

He had to stop himself from quirking a smile.

"Please?" The grin was ever there.

"Don't choke on it."

A laugh that echoed in his room. "Will do my best, Sir."

_Such a cheeky boy. With the wrong color of eyes and the wrong side of a smirk. Are you replacing everyone, then?_

He ignored it and carried on to prepare for the day.

Tunic. Pants. And all the rest. On his way out, he checked the doors to his study to make sure it was locked. Found himself amused that it was untampered. 

Smart boy.

_That you wouldn't be able to protect, so don't even start. You're going to destroy everything for us, right?_

He found said smart boy standing by one of his bookshelves and staring hard at the spines. Books of magic more acceptable and palatable than the ones he had in the deeper rooms. A piece of bread in hand and a bite already being nibbled between teeth.

"Boy."

The boy almost choked, coughing and hitting his chest for a few moments. It took a few moments, but when he turned, he was still clearing his throat. "—Alvan—Sir."

He smirked at the embarrassed blush and motioned to the breakfast laid out. Simple fare, yes, but filling and barely dented. The boy moved and sat down the floor on one side of the low table. Sharp eyes wandered away from the food and to the parchments and the books. Roaming. Searching.

Knuckles too pronounced. Elbows too pointed. Cheeks too gaunt. Eyes, even in all its brightness, was too sunken.

"Boy."

The gaze snapped back. "Alvan. Sir."

"Eat." He pushed the plates closer to the boy, sat down and started his meal as well.

"You'll be passing along a message to the Prime Minister after this, right, Sir?"

He motioned back to the food and stared until the boy started eating.

While eating, he watched the boy from the corner of his gaze.

There, a wariness. An already skittish fawn let back out to find their feet. A careful de-escalation of suspicion to be able to function. Yet, there's an openness to new experiences. A courage or a desperation to see what has changed and to live. It took a few moments before the caution was thrown to the wind and hunger took precedent.

Food shoved in.

Drink gulped when the need to breathe came.

Catching up on the life missed.

It almost reminded him of someone.

He didn't like the thought.

"Don't choke." He pushed the last plate of food to the boy.

"Hmmmnot." A strong shake of the head, hands already reaching for more food. "Hmyu shu, hyu dunwanymo?"

He waved him off and started piling the empty plates on the tray. "Finish the rest, then we will go to the Prime Minister."  
"Hyou—" Swallow. "You going to come with me, Sir?"

He raised a brow.

Another swallow. "Right. Be right with you."

He nodded and stood, going back to his quarters to brush his teeth and get his staff. When he returned, locking all the doors on the way, the boy stacked the last plate and cup on the tray and was standing by his bookshelves again.

"Come." He took the tray from the low table and turned to the door. The boy running before him to open the door and close it once they were both out.

"Sir Chapur." A soft voice called out to him from the hall.

This time, he did smile when he crossed the distance. Long strides he easily took. "Sada _,_ you need not come. I was going to pass by the kitchens as usual."

"You should let me do the rest of my job, Chapur. Few as they are already."

"Few but important, Grandma Sada." The boy piped up when he reached their side. "No one can deny that."

"Alvan. Successful at your venture, I see." Sada reached out and wiped the corner of the boy's mouth and gave his cheek a pat. "Congratulations."

The boy beamed.

"Come, Sada." He moved past them but didn't get far because she took the tray from him with a toothy grin. "Sada."

She tsked. "You are going to let me do my job, Chapur. Now go on and do your job. No use hiding in the kitchens, boy."

He frowned. The boy snickered. Sada chuckled as she turned to leave.

Still snickering when Sada turned around the corner.

"Boy."

"Me or you?" Still snickering.

"Don't dare, boy." He started for the main section of the palace.

"Alvan, Sir." Footsteps in a run followed. Snickers held back but still bursting in intervals.

He slowed down when he was deep enough the main palace.

She's here.

Her presence. Her _magic_ pushed against his very senses as if she was standing an armlength away. Claiming his attention without much of a fight from him. A pull at his gut that he could barely deny.

He didn't deny it this time, changing his direction.

"The Prime Minister is that way, Sir."

"I know."

He carried on walking, not caring that the boy was back to running just to catch up. Only focused on searching where her magic was pulling him to. Pausing to reorient. Carrying on to close the distance. Still without answers to questions that only piled out from the moment they met. Still deciding what he would do when he found her.

She was dancing.

Far from that Western Province's dance that she did that night of celebration for the Fatih matriarch. An event of which she moved through steps with every intention to tell a story, yet at the same time, enchanted all that watched. Held back criticism that became wonder.

Even him, once the confusion and the surprise faded.

Confusion at how that dance wasn't as accurate as the recent interpretations and evolutions it went through. Surprise when he realized that instead, it was well-researched. Pieces of new and old weaved together. Old enough that it summoned memories long buried and for longing to take root. Amid the weave, transitions composed of movements completely unfamiliar.

She was dancing, and this time too, was a mixture of familiar and unfamiliar.

She was outside one of the smaller gazebos. Bare feet on the grass. Arms and hands held out before her. Movements not of the snake that the belly dances try to emulate or of the fairy of an oasis. Instead, she moved like a leaf floating on a river, following a path and twirling around every few steps or so.

She fascinated him all the same.

She twirled around and paused midway, seeing him.

He was already preparing replies and conversation starters. Already wondering if she would ignore and just turn away. Guessing what emotions would flit on her face and if she would frown in utter distaste as she usually did. They were under daylight, after all.

She smiled.

_—monster—?_ A new voice whispered in a gentleness that echoed in his head.

His mind blanked and scrambled for sense. Holding onto the truth, that yes, she smiled at him. That yes, she was crossing the distance to him.

— _monster—?_ His chest tightened as the sound echoed inside the caverns of his insides.

She was still smiling and every step of hers, to _him_ instead of _away_ , was disorienting him in so many layers.

Primary of them was how he could _see_ her magic in action. How each step she took distorted the current space around her that he was more than sure she walked in two _spaces_. How there's a shadow of something echoing movements and trying to get out and flickering to the point her features started to warp. He had to close his eyes to regain focus.

— _monster_ —? The pull on his gut grew stronger.

When he opened his eyes, she was there before him, smiling a clearly held back grin. Excitement and expectation filled her gaze with every intent that he see. Amid it all, a sincerity that had his doubt hissing in suspicion because of how he was deprived by it in their previous daylight encounters.

"Chapur." She was standing an armlength away. His senses screamed at him that it was his armlength and he should move closer. A stirring somewhere within than demanded he reply. To fulfill the expectation.

What was she expecting? It took him a moment to figure out and even then, he failed. Whatever threat, attack and counter-attack he had died. Instead, emotions he had long removed labels of stirred and demanded to be named once more.

— _monster—?_ It was her voice.

He frowned, confusion and realization. Something happened that he should know but didn't. The longer he didn't know, the greater his disadvantage.

"Brave girl."

Her eyes flickered with disappointment, before they were covered by amusement. The excitement and expectation retreated too. However, there was no anger or even an ounce of irritation. Only amusement veiling disappointment. That disappointment triggered panic to take root with the only known reason being that whatever happened, he needed to figure it out.

"I am far from brave, Royal Astrologer." She stepped back, her smile disappearing, and looked away. "Who're you?"

Look at me, he wanted to blurt out. He wanted to pull her to him, to hold her chin and force her gaze to his. He wanted to ask questions. To remove whatever advantage she had over him.

Whatever it was.

"Alvan, my lady."

"Nice to meet you, Alvan." Her smile was smaller, and not for him. "I'm Gina."

She's not.

"Gina." The boy's tone was brighter and he didn't even need to look to see the smile. "Glad to meet you, m'lady."

She's not.

"Should we expect another performance then?"

"There are no plans, but maybe you're curious?" She offered a hand, her head tilted to a side. "It is a dance that needs a partner, and Her Majesty's too tired to try at the moment and Kahir, is searching for a fitting tune."

It was only then that he looked beyond her to find the Fatih matriarch sitting in the gazebo and looking at them. Too far to read her expression. The Fatih spawn was halfway the distance, watching like a hawk ready to intervene. Closer and frowning, a ready grip around his scimitar.

Unimportant. He turned back to her and found stability in the fact that as intriguing she was, she wasn't the most important.

"A dance of slaves?" He smirked.

"A dance from a story. Scared of lowering yourself so much, Chapur?" She raised a brow. "Or scared of being first to learn? I do need to lead if you would dare to learn."

"It is not a matter of fear, girl."

"As you say, Royal Astrologer." She stepped back once more.

"Boy."

"Alvan, Sir."

"Stay. I will go to the Prime Minister—"

"Alone, Sir?"

He held back a sigh.

"Right, alone."

_You wouldn't be able to protect the boy. Don't even start._

"A substitute?" She grinned, delighted. Laughter in warm eyes. "Does that mean that there's a chance that it'll be you I am dancing with in the future?"

"Maybe."

Her laughter bled out as a chuckle from bitten lips. "And then, you'll talk?"

_And you will talk._

_Maybe._

He shuddered, felt a chill travel through his being. A touch of magic. An echo of an invitation yet to be answered.

_I will listen._

"Maybe." He crossed the distance between them, aware that the Fatih spawn was already reacting. She didn't even step back, instead, looked up and waited. He leaned close and whispered to her ear. "Give me time. I'll have your answer."

The hope in her eyes made him want to bring the world to heel, just so he could give her the answer she wanted.

Knowing he could.

He stepped back and turned without acknowledging anyone else.

Knowing that he wouldn't.

She wasn't the most important.

_I will listen._ A whisper, her voice, that he was sure was paired with an expression with utter sincerity and softness, even when his mind couldn't summon anything else.

Listen to what? What did she expect him to tell her? Did she think herself worthy enough to hear? Worthy enough for him to even open up to her? Quite an assumption then, in that case. Who was she, to think that she could handle whatever he had to tell?

Who was she, to look at him, smile and expect?

_I will listen._

Not Gina.

He paused outside the Prime Minister's office, eyes widening. That pretty much explained most of it, didn't it?

Not Gina.

Ghiyath found himself smirking and shaking his head. He pushed the door and swept into the room. "Prime Minister. I am surprised to hear that you dared to be stupid so early in the morning."

The spineless coward looked up from his work. "Stupid? How dare you, Chapur. I am the reason—"

"For everything," Rhythmic taps of his staff as he pushed deeper into the room. "You think. Now, I ask, do you really wish to know all the details and then be tortured for them when everything falls apart?"

"I have the right to know. You are using my resources."

"You have, but you do not have the need for it." Before any further sputtering could be made, he continued. "Being hasty will cause you your downfall."

Anger. Saggy cheeks reddening. Gritted teeth.

"Or, you can scream and threaten. I'm sure you still have a few years in you to wait for another fitting person that can topple your brother and your nephew for you."

Lips pressed in a hard line.

"You are well aware of what would happen once your nephew sits on the throne."

The fight died in those eyes. The man was greedy enough but didn't have an inch of courage in him.

"Now," Ghiyath set his staff to the floor with an echoing tap, finding a perfect spot not covered by the carpets. He was grinning, unveiled distaste and knowing power. "What do you plan with the boy?"

"What boy?"

"Your morning messenger."

"Ah. Send him back to the dungeons until I need him again."

_You wouldn't be able to protect the boy. So don't even start._

_—monster—_

_Don't start._

_—monster—_

_You're here to destroy._

_—monster—_

"Alvan."

"What?"

"Since you do not have any use of him, I'll be taking him. I'll send him to you when there's something you needed to know." The silence that followed stretched long enough for Ghiyath to deem it as agreement. "Now that we have everything cleared, I'll be doing my work."

He didn't wait for an answer, leaving the room to carry on with his new plans.

_I will listen._

It was Alvan's laughter that welcomed Ghiyath when he came back to the gazebo area. The sound loud enough that he heard it before he rounded the corner and saw them. He was still laughing when he finally was close enough to see what was happening. 

"Don't even dare, m'lady!" Alvan stood with an arm wrapped around Not-Gina, his hand settled on her upper back. "I'm truly going to drop you this time around."

"Oh, don't worry. I'm hardier than I look." A giggle and a slow sway of her body, followed by her braided hair. Her voice, bright with eagerness and daring. She turned, her profile showing a large smile on her face. "Come on, Kahir. From the top!"

Music started.

Ghiyath could stop and intervene. He knew that. He was here to inform Alvan and have him start helping, after all.

Instead, he watched under the cover of shadows.

She stood straighter, braced her arm over Alvan's as she held his shoulder. Her other hand, clasped within Alvan's, she held out as far as the boy's arm could. Shoulders, tensing. Shoulders, relaxing.

Then she started moving.

"One. Two. Three."

She started leading.

"One. Two. Three."

They moved side to side, but never outside their small boxed space. Steps uniform and limited and far from what he watched her do alone earlier.

"One."

The step was wider and more open.

"Two."

The sway of her body was more pronounced.

"Three."

Alvan was grinning as he tried to follow.

"Turn!"

She whirled him to a turn and from then on, she was dragging him through motions.

Ghiyath noticed several things.

Alvan was most likely supposed to be the one leading, but since he didn't know how, he was being overpowered by her eagerness. He was also a tad too small, which caused her to hold back so their form still looked graceful. She never looked away from his face too.

"Turn. Turn." They twirled in place. Once. Twice. Thrice. "Underarm Turn!"

Alvan was too small, it was almost comical how she had to bend down to achieve the turn. Her other arm swept out and her hand held out in an attempt for poised pose. He laughed. She giggled and lifted her other leg out, bare foot pointed straight.

Amid the laughter, Ghiyath moved onward. A spell murmured as he lifted his staff and felt its weight shift. Felt it move and wrap around his arm then move around his neck. He carried onward, feeling the sun on his skin, his gaze focused on one goal.

_Destroyer. Outsider. Not yours._

Following the pull.

Laughter.

"Thank the Crow, I'm definitely going to drop you if you attempt that dip thing again, m'lady!"

"I still want it though!"

One goal.

"Find someone else then!"

"Oh, please, Alvan. You're a strong lad!"

Ghiyath reached for that outstretched hand of hers and held it in his own. "Alvan."

"Boy, Sir!"

"Chapur!"

He grinned and tugged. Felt the shift in her balance and watched as surprise passed her expression. Passed. Because it only stayed for a moment, before delight and awareness followed.

Delight as she let go of her hold of the boy and turned to him instead. Awareness as her body followed the pull of his hand. Her feet moving to him in tiptoe. Her hands moving to reach out and hold him. His hand. His shoulder. Her body close enough to touch, but far enough to crave for.

She giggled.

Warmth.

Want.

  
He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her even closer. Torso to torso. Pressing.

Tension.

Held breath.

Strength against softness.

She relaxed a bit within his arms and squeezed his shoulder and his hand, then raised her head to look at him. Delight in her eyes still. A smile on her lips still.

"From the top!" Alvan's voice rang, relief and excitement.

"Gina."  
"From the top, Kahir." The Fatih matriarch's gentle voice.

A pause.

Then music.

After the first bar, she moved, a pressure to his shoulder and to his hip. Her body curving back and leaning her weight on him. He followed her.

Practiced movements long left to rust, but still remembered by muscles. Adjusting to fit the unfamiliar.

There, a turn that was almost like the one he once made with a cousin, in a great hall full of glittering glass lanterns. Laughter in kin-colored eyes as feet tried not to fumble. There, a pause for a breath almost reminiscent to the one his tutors long dead would often drill into him the need for. A long lecture that was full of anecdotes and a ready ' _I told you so'_ as an ending. There, a twirl and another and another, almost a closer version of when his mother pulled him by the hands and twirled them round and round. Her song echoing, before it was joined by his father's own voice. A rare moment of peace amid the tension of ruling.

"You’re better at dancing than I could ever be." A soft voice.

He snapped out of his thoughts to find Not-Gina smiling, the delight softened to reminiscing. He pulled her into another twirl and then followed as she pulled him to the next.

They moved together.

"I haven't danced in ages." He spoke as softly as she did, their movements not pausing.

"Even just for fun?" She craned her head closer to his own, gaze roaming on his face. "Even just a small sway of body for a short while?"

He barely remembered celebrations and festivals. Of common people gathering together and dancing around a great fire. Of bells tinkling and children's laughter. He remembered the chill of loss and the numbness mostly instead.

He pulled her even closer, his hand moving down her spine and settling on her lower back. He felt her squeeze him closer too, her arm moving around his shoulders.

"No." He murmured as they slowed down. Standing together. Swaying together. "I've lost reason for it."

"And now?"

"A fleeting fancy."

She pulled back, gave him a short nod and a sweet smile. "I say that's good enough of a start."

Before he could respond, the weight around his neck moved. A hissing cobra of black and purple popping out.

"Oh!" Her eyes wide. Surprise. Delight. Interest. Her eyes, sparkling. "You have a pet!"

"It's my staff."  
"So your staff is also your pet?"

"It's not my pet. It's my staff."

"Awwwww. You have a pet." She offered her hand to the cobra and turned to him. "They're beautiful."

She looked at him with such kindness and softness that it made him want to deserve it. A look that was reserved in closed rooms, waking nightmares and under the light of the moon, being bestowed upon him in broad daylight.

He should be threatening her for the lamp. She should be fighting back, denying and running.

Instead she looked at him and in some way _saw_ him more than anyone in this land that was once home ever could.

Maybe that's good enough a start.

Clapping broke through the silence and he tensed, realizing that the music had long stopped and they were still holding each other. The cobra hissed and ducked back into his head covering. Round and round his neck before settling.

He tore his gaze away from those warm eyes and looked up.

The Fatih matriarch was still sitting in the gazebo, smiling and clapping her hands. However, there's an air of analyzing and knowing around her. Deliberate actions. Her smile just a little strained enough that he noticed. Her spawn was once more halfway the distance, confused and obviously torn on what to do. Alvan, the poor clueless boy, was wide eyed in amazement.

"That was a wonderful sight. Now I understand why you're adamant that we wouldn't understand until there's a right partner."

Alvan nodded, bouncing on his heels.

Ghiyath felt the woman in his arms sway, his arm around her tightening to keep her upright.

"Yes! It's quite different in its own way but also similar. A dance of the common folk that the nobility adapted and turned to something more structured." She pouted. "It's a shame I wasn't able to get a dip."

"And what name did the storyteller give this dance?"

She pulled back from him with an excited giggle, raising their clasped hands and twirling under. She finished the twirl with a shaky curtsy that he held her steady through.

"It's called the waltz, Your Majesty." She straightened and grinned. "If I remember right, it meant revolve."

"The waltz. It rolls strangely on the tongue." The Fatih matriarch stood and stepped out of the gazebo. "But it fits."

"Gina." The Fatih spawn moved closer. Three steps before pausing and holding out his hand. Still confused. Still torn. "Are you well?"

"Why wouldn't I be well?"

"Because…" Obviously jealous. Dark emotions within blue eyes. "We need to go and continue research. Let's escort Mother back too."

"Oh. Right."

Ghiyath felt her pull away, distaste filling his mouth at the need to let her go. Confusion at the realization that he didn't want to let her go. Surprise when she squeezed his hand and looked back to him. Their clasped palms sweaty.

"We'll find a time for that dip, won't we Chapur?"

Why are you doing this? He wanted to ask.

"Maybe."

"That's good enough a start." She squeezed his hand again, tighter. Then a nod that he was sure was mostly for herself than his. "Good enough a start."

She pulled away. He let go.

"Alvan." Ghiyath called the boy to his side and turned away with only a nod to the Fatih matriarch. "With me."

"Of course, Sir!"

Back to the roles that they've decided to fill. Back to the roles they were set to be in. Back to work.

Work. Reading books upon books of spells and magic and history. Searching for anything that was even a hint similar to what he saw and experienced with Not-Gina. Remembering when and how it started.

Past sunset.

Past dinner.

Past—

"—Finally!" Alvan rushed into his study with a grin. Holding out three locks and presenting them proudly. "See! I told you!"

Ghiyath set down the book he was reading and smirked at the boy, standing. "Who would've thought?"

Alvan set the locks on his desk and waited.

"Come on then." He nudged the boy out the study and led the way. "I'll help you clean the room for the night and then we'll ask Sada for more blankets and clean sheets."

"You weren't jesting!?"

"I wasn't."

"So, I'm not going back to the Prime Minister?"

"Only when I have messages for him."

He was already inside the room when the steady sound of footsteps that followed stop.

"And in return, Sir?"

He froze, in the middle of taking out blankets from the dusty bed.

_A pawn._

_A limb._

_A tool._

_You couldn't take care of him anyway._

He looked at Alvan and found him wide-eyed. Daring and bravado over wariness. Hope and a bone-carved fear. A maturity that was so out of place with how small he was.

Maybe.

He smiled and shook his head, setting the blankets to the floor. "You're going to eat and sleep proper and get some meat in you."

Surprise, with the wariness shifting to full on suspicion. "And then?"

"You survive and live, Alvan." He moved to take a clean blanket from one of the chests and threw it at the boy. Chuckling when it smacked him on the face. "Now, come and help me. Then we'll get to dinner."

Alvan threw the blanket back with as much force as he could. Ghiyath simply caught it and shook it out.

"One day, it'll smack your face!"

"Not tonight."

Alvan laughed and rushed to the chest to pull out some more blankets. "Is it alright to have some more blankets?"

"Throw them here."

The following hours were spent fluffing pillows and tucking corners. Throwing blankets liked and catching them. Laughter and pouts. Words filling the usual silence while the floor was swept and the dust was wiped off. Dinner, food long cold but filling. Sleepy eyes and the childish want to be awake. Words becoming tangled by the impending slumber and the weight of the day.

It ended with a soft goodnight, awkwardly spoken. The fear being bared by the silence.

"Goodnight, Alvan." He murmured and ruffled the boy's hair before nudging him to his room.

The smile the boy gave him that time around was more unsure.

"See you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, Sir." A yawn.

Ghiyath watched as Alvan shuffled to his bedroom. Watched as the door was pushed close and listened to the click of the latch. To the gap of silence and then the click of the lock.

Maybe, might be a good enough a start.

He was smiling when he turned to his room himself. A warmth in his chest that wasn't blazing but was enough to make him feel alive. He was in the middle of undressing, just after throwing his cloak to his bed, when he paused.

Amid the thread of tassels was a thin braid.

The floor shifted beneath his feet and everything flickered. The becoming familiar pull, grew stronger—too strong.

_Are you the monster in the next room? Or, did you need to become one too and no longer know how to stop?_

_I will listen._

Ghiyath exhaled with a hiss, once the rush of memories faded and everything returned to normal.

Body borrower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the time you took to read this. Also, from my time zone, Merry Christmas. :D


	3. How Far From The Precipice?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That absolute dilemma when the mind was still considering the decision to be made, while the heart already decided.

Ghiyath wasn't running. He wasn't. He was far from avoiding either. Instead, he was preparing and buying himself time. This was a battle, after all.

A battle.

He told himself that whenever he felt Not-Gina's magic and turned the other way. Or whenever he sought her but stopped far enough to just observe. To stop the wonder from growing at finally realizing how intricate her magic could be. Because here was a pebble in the sand with the power that could shift everything.

A battle.

To stop the disappointment that took root when he went to that place one night and found it empty, but her screams of anger echoed in his ears. Empty, but he could still hear her melancholy so clear. Empty, but the warmth of her hands against his shoulders were blazing. And the braid hidden in the tassel still intact.

A battle.

He told himself again and again, to instead foster the familiar anger and rage. For, how dare she? Toy with him. Attempt to wrap him around her finger. And—

Ghiyath stopped. Every muscle in his body tensing and his gut reacting to the now familiar pull of magic. He cursed himself at being unaware. Cursed himself at how Alvan paused beside him and looked at him with a clear question in his eyes.

"Kahir, I really can't thank you enough." Her voice carried through the corridor before them. An intersection that he would need to make a turn to reach his destination. "You really shouldn't be escorting me everywhere though."

A battle.

_You're afraid._

"I wasn't sure if I should've asked but I've been really curious, you see."

"Of a hall where ancestral paintings of the Fatih line are." A chuckle. "Just exclaiming 'Memory Hall' out of nowhere definitely didn't help."

_Of what?_

"I tried my best to explain. I know I rambled, but at least I got to the point."

"I like it when you ramble."

He saw her first, distorted by her magic. The body trying to keep it in but not being enough. The distortion of her features was a discovery. An occurrence that happened whenever he sees her for the first time for the day since that night.

He closed his eyes. His insides already a riot torn between willing that she not look his way and chanting that she look.

_You're afraid._

"No, you do not."

Another chuckle. "You have a way with words, Gina. You do."

"A way of not finding the right words the first try."

He opened his eyes and found her looking at him. The distortion gone and her expression of surprise, clear.

_You're afraid._

Then, she smiled.

_Of that._

She smiled wide and turned to his direction, without hesitation. Her steps echoing through the corridor. The excitement and the expectation weren't there. Instead, there was gladness and mischief.

"Alvan!" She stopped an armlength away. His armlength. He should stop taking note of that. She turned to the boy, leaning forward in interest. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"M'lady."

"Gina." Amusement joined her fray of emotions.

"M'lady. I've been helpin' the Royal Astrologer and all. Learning my manners and such."

"And your words."

"And my words. Sir's been teaching me my letters and my writing before bed."

She beamed at him. _At him._ And he could feel his chest tighten at the pride in her gaze and the warmth. _For him_. She was proud of him.

_And that._

"I'm proud of you, Alvan." She turned back, still beaming, as if she was proud of the boy all along. But the impact was irreparable. "The Royal Astrologer is a very learned man. Is he a good teacher?"

"Yes. He's very determined I learn. It's infecting."

"Infectious."

"Oh, right, Sir. It's infectious."

Ghiyath didn't even realize he had spoken, had corrected, until he heard her snicker. Her teeth biting her lower lip to keep her mirth in.

Then and there, Ghiyath decided to run.

"Alvan, come on." He walked past Not-Gina, without any acknowledgement or any look her way. Past the Fatih Spawn.

_You're afraid._

He was. He was utterly afraid.

He could face her fear and her anger and her lies. He could face her hatred. Those were battles he was sure to win easily. He knew those emotions like breathing. He knew destruction and the need for it. The fire that raged through his veins for vengeance and a price to finally be paid.

He took a deep breath.

He didn't know what to do with her smiles and her kindness and her excitement and her mirth and her—

Her reaching out to him in broad daylight.

In broad daylight.

For in the night, it was easy to dismiss it as folly. A fleeting insanity. A fanciful dream.

In broad daylight, everything felt even more real. A confirmation that he wasn't dreaming the night before.

And he was utterly afraid.

She made him aware of his want for foolish things.

"What's the plan for today, Sir?" Alvan grinned at him. His smile familiar at this point. His question accepted by the walls of the astrology tower when once it was ever quiet. His boundless energy and curiosity filling the area the very moment they entered. "I already cleaned the lenses last night. Yes, like you taught me. Yes, with that special cloth."

So aware.

"Sir?"

For more than what he had in a past long dead. For more than the destruction he was determine to bring.

"Sir!"

Ghiyath blinked and found Alvan before him, pulling his vacant chair out of his desk. Concerned.

"Are you feeling well? Should I get Grandma Sada? You've been off for maybe a week now?"

"... No. I'm fine." He shooed Alvan away from the desk and gave him his instructions. A new simple task that could be done easily without supervision. He wasn't in a state of supervising.

The moment Alvan left him alone, the thoughts demanded once more of his attention. Preyed on his weakness.

For a future beyond the destruction to be wrought. For a future _other_ than the destruction. For something more, instead of his long-accepted and self-decided end.

He remembered her smile and pinched the bridge of his nose, annoyed with himself. He heard Alvan's humming and growled under his breath.

Just to want.

For smiles and laughter. For happiness. For a warmth that didn't consume like anger and fury. For something close to what he lost. Different, but close. For something he knew he no longer deserve, but he was greedy of. For even just the crumbs.

Even just for a bit.

For understanding.

And to be reminded, to be once more made aware, filled him with terror.

For here was a woman that had the power that could shift everything in him, and here he was scrambling to backtrack. At what point did things slip out of his control? When did he let his guard down enough that she found a foothold to learn his ways? For her to pick up on which questions would stick and how to dare him to act?

_Are you the monster in the next room? Or, did you need to become one too and no longer know how to stop?_

It was a question he knew the answer to, easily. And it was an answer that he knew she would understand. An answer he knew she would accept. However, now that he had the time to think about what happened, he understood why she didn't let him answer. It wasn't the answer that was difficult. It was the choice between answering or leaving everything unaddressed.

_I will listen._

She knew that if he did answer her, that the game—the battle they were waging would be about something different entirely. Something more.

"Sir!"

Ghiyath almost jumped, his instincts ready to react against a threat only to realize that there was none. It took him a few moments to note that Alvan was rushing from one of the rooms to the main door. To realize that someone was knocking.

"Are you sure you're fine? You don't look sick, but you're right out it!"

He didn't deign give an answer, looking down at his work that was still left untouched.

"Y—Your M—Majesty."

That had him looking up immediately.

The Fatih Matriarch stood by the door of his small domain, dwarfed by her guard that immediately moved to his post in the hall.

Instinctively, a cacophony of thoughts launched itself to a pandemonium while he raised all his mental guards. Suspicion and surprise were twins that battled at the forefront. While a layer of said thoughts screamed observations that demanded to be heard above everything. Observations, such as how this Matriarch was much smaller than his own mother. And, how she looked a whole lot frailer. Of differences in the way she conducted herself as Queen, compared to the best Queen in his head.

Of similarities.

The knowledge in their eyes. The grace in their movements whether it be smaller of grand. The secrets in their smiles. "I hope that your tasks aren't too specialized that a visit is too much a disruption, Royal Astrologer."

Ghiyath stood and met the Fatih Matriarch halfway as she moved deeper into his domain. Offering his free arm for her to escort her and giving a light bow. The observations continued as he escorted her to the receiving area where he guided her to sit on one of the grander settees. His guard retorted at said observations that _he himself was a child of court and he was more than familiar with its intricacies. He was damn born in the its very bosom._ "How can I be of assistance?"

The Fatih Matriarch smiled, a small one that filled her gaze with obvious curiosity. His observations carried on and listed, the calm in her shoulders and the strength of her spine. "It is a more personal matter, if you are willing to listen."

His suspicion tried to find a working balance with the growing intrigue. He sat on the settee across hers and waited. Watched.

Her smile shifted to something thoughtful and he was sure it was because he was already raising a brow. "I come in suggestion of our mutual friend."

He blinked. The cacophony in his head suddenly quiet.

Friend.

"Gina?"

Not-Gina.

"Ah, the concern is not the person, but the connection." The Fatih Matriarch's tone shifted to obvious understanding. As if she was suddenly faced by the very same dilemma. "I can only parrot what she said about the matter, I guess. And hope that it would help you."

Friend.

"I will be the judge of that, Your Majesty, but I am open to hear what she said."

Friend.

She chuckled, then cleared her throat. An action that screamed comfortable, which was absolutely strange when one considered who she was talking to. "We must always check and review our criteria on what we consider is friend or foe, family or beloved. And in doing so, we become more aware of what's within. From there we become more aware of what's around us."

Ghiyath carefully kept his thoughts under control, watching Alvan as he served snacks and drinks before getting back to work. Once the boy was gone, he met the Fatih Matriarch's gaze. "And you are here because?"

"I was told that I might find a friend in you."

"What?"

_You no longer deserve friendships._

_You no longer deserve trust._

_You no longer have time for everything else than to repay all the sins that you have caused, you weak-weak-weak utter—_

"A friend, Chapur."

"Why?"

_Because you are worthy only as a tool and not even a good one at that._

_You have failed in so many things. You are obviously failing in what you came here for too._

"Why?" Ghiyath repeated the question with a need for his tone to still be uncaring. That it hide his every instinct of just flat out telling the current Queen of the Kingdom that she was doing something utterly stupid. "You do know that I am of the Prime Minister's employ."

"And that he has plans of overthrowing my husband and my son for the throne, yes." The Queen shrugged, as if they were simply talking about the weather. She took one of the goblets and took a sip. Then, set it back down. "And that you are most likely the newest accomplice of his, yes."

Awareness pricked at his spine, while anger clawed its way up for his throat. The words just spoken, now long gone in terms of sound, were still present in terms of its weight. The silence that followed a prelude to an inevitable.

"But, Gina speaks highly of you and she spoke of matters that made me think." Her gaze turned to the door of the room Alvan was in. Her next smile just full-on motherly. "I once told her that my only friends are the King and my son. And her immediate expression of utter doubt and disbelief was a good source of laughter back then. It's like your expression earlier, Chapur, of how you are so ready to tell me that my presence here is stupidity. You handled it much better, though."

Ghiyath couldn't help his smirk and didn’t even try tampering it down for protocol's sake. He wasn't surprised, Not-Gina was quite a reactive sort and it was one of the reasons he enjoyed interacting with her very much. Her emotions were quite subdued until stirred.

"She said that surely there are matters that I couldn't ever share with either. And also, who do I share to when it's matters about them? For surely, _they wouldn't understand everything?_ "

"This is where the 'check and review' criteria came in."

"Yes."

He nodded, getting more sense of the situation and the possible reasons the Queen sat before him. He took his own goblet and settled in for what he was sure would be a long talk. 

"You are here then, because I am of magic. That of which your king and son are working so hard to step away from." He had thought the Queen unimportant. She wasn't as much of a force as those during his time. Her presence wasn't always one that demanded. And it was his mistake that he underestimated her. For as his mind scrambled for everything he knew of the woman before him, admiration was quickly becoming the resulting emotion. "It would've been suffocating to come from a land that breathes magic to a place slowly becoming devoid of it."

"To be quite honest, I'm surprised I survived for this long without going mad." The longing was in the gentleness of her words. In the decreasing volume. In how close he believed she was to reminiscing. "I've taught myself to not want and now that I've been reminded I can—"

"It's terrifying." Realization upon realizations stacked within him. Some were about the Queen that was before him. Most were about the dilemmas within him. He took the silence that followed to sort these out and to decide on how to move onward. "It's been a while since I visited or even stayed in the Western Province and I am sure you receive regular updates, but it's still a land that lived with magic. It's thriving there. Magic—living Magic—as we know it very well."

The sincerity in her eyes confirmed that the place was still the same even after all these years.

"Who is the current Fairy of the Western Province? A niece? A granddaughter?"

Scheherazade smiled, wider this time and more eager. Pride beaming out of her emerald eyes. "My youngest sister. They of the Fairy-Blessed wouldn't die out so easily, Chapur."

"Use 'we', Your Majesty. You are still Fairy-Blessed."

Her magic thrummed like the pulse that it should be. Within her veins like the bloodline that was blessed. Steady and sure, like the guardianship all of the Fairies of the Oasis would forever have.

"Yes." Scheherazade was far different from the Queens of Ghiyath's time, but in all aspects he held dear, she was indeed a Queen. "Yes, I should."

"And in doing so, you prove yourself much braver than I could ever fool myself to being, Your Majesty."

"But you are brave. You might just need to recalibrate definitions as I was advised."

"By _our mutual friend._ "

Her laughter was how he discovered he expected it to be. Thrumming of strings and a touch otherworldly. "By our surprisingly mutual friend. She was right after all."

He blinked. "In what?"

"You understood. Maybe not completely, never completely, but you do. You tried when I was so sure you wouldn't even take the time."

"Not always. Sometimes, not at all."

"Well, I'm glad I tried. Who would've known what happened otherwise?"

Ghiyath shrugged, looking at Alvan as he stepped out of the room he was in. The boy grinning wide at a job surely done well.

"Who would've known?"

* * *

That today would be a day of revelations?

Not me, she thought as she made sure to keep to pace with Kahir's longer strides.

"Do you really think the portraits would hold clues to locating your missing friends?"

No. Not at all. She wasn't searching for missing friends in the first place. She shrugged, ready excuses in her mouth. "We've looked through whatever records the Royal Library has, twice. We might not find anything through the portraits but at least they're a sight more appealing than mountains of text."

"True. I must admit, I haven't visited the Ancestral Hall just to look at it for the last year."

"Oh. Oh. What do you remember the most then? Or the easiest?"

"The ruby-crested scimitar."

"Ruby?"

Kahir nodded, pride lifting his spirits and strengthening the surety of his movements. "Yes. It means aplenty, for so simple an object. An heirloom, a symbol, and a reminder."

"Explain." She moved closer to him, pasting a smile to hide how her mind was already rushing. "Do tell me, if it's fine with you."

"It's not like it's a secret, Gina." He set a hand on her back and guided her to another turn. "Each Fatih is taught about this from the moment we can understand. There's even a lesson about this that we hold close to heart. "

"Tell me."

"I'm going to, if you would just be a smidge more patient." He cleared his throat and smiled.

"Ruby, ruby, red as blood.

Whether we be crowned or damned.

Ruby, ruby, red as blood.

Spilled by mishap or command.

Ruby, ruby, red as blood.

D'you remember, you young one?

It's not your blood that crowned you.

It's the decision you took to act."

It almost was a perfect innocent childhood rhyme. Almost, if not for the plain worded warning in its last lines. The way Kahir recited it even implied a tune that could've been there in the recent past. She would've loved knowing more of its iterations. Would've loved trying to guess the tune even when she was never a musician, not even a decent singer. Would've loved to know the intricacies of such lesson.

At the moment, those 'would'ves' weren't the priority.

"Did this start with the first Fatih Royal?"

"The ruby-crested scimitar being the family's symbolic heirloom was added once the Fatih name took the throne. We might be an old noble line, but we are a new royal one, and ceremony was needed after all." Kahir paused and that had her pausing too. A few steps too late that she had to look back to check if something was wrong.

She wasn't prepared at what she saw that she had to look away. To gather strength enough to face the bittersweet softness in blue eyes. At a level of intensity to stare back at what she knew she didn't deserve. At a level of sincerity that she knew required to be truly felt.

Gina, the woman with the blazing fire in her heart and the strength so unstoppable in her veins, deserved that look. Gina, that needed the safety and surety of this man's steadiness. Gina, that was more receptive and with a warmer heart instead of a freezing one. Gina, that cared with the depth that matched.

Gina that looked at Kahir and his kindness and affection and didn't deem it too much for her. That looked at the Prince and didn't always think that he's—

—too upright.

—too good.

—too innocent.

—too naïve.

"Just stay there for a moment."

She shook her head, finally raising her head to look at him straight on. She crossed the distance between them and grabbed his arm. "Oh no, you don't go thinking that sort of thoughts."

"No?" He laughed, the sound echoing. Softness replaced by teasing. "Not even how pretty you looked framed by the hall entrance?"

"That—That's worse!" She dragged him to moving and ignored the embarrassment crawling up her cheeks. "We're here in a mission, and we will finish it. No dilly-dallying."

"As you say, my dear lady." He maneuvered their arms so he was escorting her. A lady of the noblest birth, as if. Hers looped around his, as if the most normal thing in the world. He pulled her through the threshold and swept an arm out before them. "Welcome, to our Ancestral Hall."

It was a place one would be proud of. A wide and spacious hall full of tall windows to let natural light in. A place that looked like it invited and inhabited happy memories. Settees filled with pillows and low tables littered the hall. It would've been cozy too, if not for the obvious opulence. A place that would've been a place of gathering and family reunions.

"Ah." Wonder, at the work of clear masters. Awe, however, in the decisions of what was laid before her. "A face to the King I've only heard."

There, the king in his height of health, crowned and clad in glory. A royal portrait, that's for sure. One that loomed over the viewer, tall stature amplified by the elevation of the painting. Learned eyes staring onward, determined, the grip he had around the treasured ruby-crested scimitar tight. He was a clear man of power and one that knew how to wield it, even with the small smile stretching his lips. He would've been intimidating, everything would've been intimidating, if not for the fact that surrounding that large portrait were smaller paintings of the man and his family.

"You were such a cute kid, Kahir. All adorable cheeks and really blue marble eyes!" Paintings of moments in time, taken quickly through quick sketches. Then, interpreted from memory and the moment's impact to the artist, with a good dose of artistic license and royal instruction. "And your hair used to be longer? Now I wouldn’t be able to unthink it. You got your hair from your mother too and her hair is divine."

Scheherazade, that even in the paintings held loneliness beneath shimmering emerald eyes. Diminishing, yes, but there enough that even the artist couldn't lie about it.

Image, after all, was important, but to some people it was _everything._

Kahir chuckled. "You should ask Mother about how I could barely maintain that hair."

"Tangles?"

"And mud. And dirt. And leaves, branches, and more"

"An adventurous lad you truly are, by heart." She giggled, stepping away and looking him over. "Is the current fashion a promise to Her Majesty that you can keep yourself clean?"

"Ha. Ha."

She squeezed his arm and slipped away, snickering as she twirled away ready to explore. "How far back are these? This hall is looooooooong."

"Generations and generations. Especially since our monarchy is new, just two—almost three generations so far. So we include the ones before, when our family were ministers."

That's good enough a confirmation. She lengthened her steps and carefully looked at each royal portrait. Moving quickly along the moment she saw the ruby-crested scimitar. Unimportant red. Unimportant red. Unimportant red.

Suddenly, blue. Blue with that self-assured smile. Blue with those bright eyes ever dancing in mischief and plans. Blue, a nickname that would ever be hovering against her lips to tease and to rile up.

Light.

Happy and alive and amid family. Human. Absolutely and undeniably human. Immortalized grinning amid possible siblings and cousins in one painting. In another, sitting on the sides and watching over the younger children with a small smile. And in one more, wielding such bright and devouring fire.

Light.

A part of her was surprised. Truly. A greater part though, the part she adamantly set apart from all of this, ever aware that this wasn’t her reality and this was a story, was ecstatic.

> _A twist you've thought coming. You've wished for._
> 
> With how it's been mentioned, yes!
> 
> _A power you often preferred._
> 
> I hope this is world-built properly.
> 
> _And if not? As if you could even worldbuild properly yourself._
> 
> Shut up. Time to find the holes to exploit.
> 
> _But before that—_
> 
> We plan. We experiment. We push.
> 
> _Limitations. Dead ends. Breakables._

Thoughts that sped through her conscious like rabbits.

"Ah, you found him."

Her thoughts tripped over each other while her heart started hammering. Her words scrambling to know which was the right question to ask and finding them too telling, so she bit her tongue and waited instead. She felt Kahir stop beside her, stared at his profile as he looked at the very same paintings.

"We call him 'The Uncrowned First King'."

The silence that followed settled like an itch just under her very skin. Enough that she could feel goosebumps she tried to control through gritted teeth.

"If you do not tell me more than that, Kahir, I will shake you until you give me more." She hissed. A threat she's ready to see through even though she's not sure yet on how. "I swear to all the deities that would listen."

"Curious, aren't we?"

"Oh, come on, Kahir." She rolled her eyes, smiling, and looked back to the paintings. The moment passed and solemnity fell between them. Solemnity filled the whole hall. "Did he die during the end of the turmoil, and didn't survive the transition of power? Or was he the hero of the moment, a death of glory?"

"He disappeared." Kahir held her by the elbow, a light touch that turned firm, and tugged her to a settee directly before the paintings. He sat and pulled her down beside him. "There's not much written in the history books. Only that he went and faced the Old Tyrant and disappeared after the confrontation. However, the stories passed down in the family hold more. Almost a legend."

"Arslan was the chosen heir and was one of the greatest magicians the family had ever seen. A man capable enough to be a holder of magical artifacts and one that knew well the wielding of them. If he lived through his confrontation with the Old Tyrant, we believed that he would've pushed forth an age of rule where a balance between magic and science is the goal." Kahir sighed, a sound almost like unspoken regret. Not only for the ancestor thought to be long dead, but for a path that would've been the ideal. A path of balance and compromise that to a degree, she understood. His mother after all, was of magic. "If he'd lived, can you imagine how much wisdom he could've passed to the next generations? How wise he could've been? It's a shame that he was crowned Prince after his death. The greatest honor his older brother could give at that time."

Arslan.

"The Lion of the Fatih." She murmured, knowing the meaning of the name from another story. One with a Lion-God. "How fitting. Do you look up to him, Kahir?"

He nodded.

"The man or the potential?"

"The man." He was so sure in his answer. The way he delivered it as steady as bedrock under sand. Immovable.

She nodded. Not needing further explanation. Whatever his reasons were, he believed in them with the very core of his being and that, she admired. Whether they were the right reasons, she could only judge the 'how' that's she's seeing and she knew that Kahir was a good man.

"You will be a good King, Kahir." She took his hand in both of hers and squeezed. "You listen and you're determined. I also have a grand old feeling that you also know when to bend and when to be firm. And more importantly, you have the warm heart that not many have."

"When it does happen, will you be there to be proud of me?" He gripped her hand in return.

"Yes." A lie from her. A truth she would make sure for Gina. In some way. "But know that I'm already proud of you."

That was a truth. And it was an easy truth to give.

"Your Highness."

The sound echoed and she jerked away by instinct, her gaze searching the source of the sound. Kahir followed suit, turning his body to where she looked. There, a guard stood by the entrance of the hall and upon acknowledging, moved closer.

"I apologize for intruding, but Her Majesty calls for you." The guard turned to look at her and then back to Kahir. "I can escort the lady to the gates, Your Highness."

"No." She gripped Kahir's hand and pulled, wanting him to look at her. Knowing that he would. "I'd like to stay. Please. I need to see more."

"You can stay for as long as you wish and you wouldn't be disturbed." The guard bowed and pulled back, leaving the hall with the understanding that he had done his job. Kahir followed suit, standing and giving her a parting smile. "I hope you're still here when I finish what I need to do."

"There's always another day. You might get bored of me if we're sewn to the hip."

"Pfft." Kahir, Prince of the Full Moon Kingdom, just pffted. A sound one could've missed as he had turned away. "Not you Gina, not you."

She watched him walk away, watched until he left the hall altogether and then, promptly spaced out. An attempt of her mind to clear itself before returning to the revelations she was given. An attempt to reorient on what to do next.

A moment—

"Fuck." She breathed out and then lounged back to the chair. "Fucking, fuckity, fuck"

—to let down pretenses.

"Two Princes, Gina. What a situation to be in." She chuckled, a touch exhausted from the social interaction, before pushing herself to her feet and starting her way to the portraits and paintings still unseen. Beyond Light—Arslan. To find a clue on the gem that fits the Magic Lamp. A much, much older one. "I'll be fucked if there's a third."

—to come down from an emotional high.

"Focus. Focus. Fucking focus." She sang under her breath as she stopped before another portrait, trying to pinpoint what was consistent from the one before and the one after. "One thing at a time."

Definitely not a piece of clothing, nor their scimitars this time around. Not a jewel on a ring. Not one in a headdress or an arm band. Bangles changed every portrait, from a preference to carvings to one with different gems.

Necklaces? Even harder when head of families posed with their grand long beards that hid whatever they wore around their necks. If they're clean shaven, they were wearing high necked clothes that obstructed her view of any possible necklace. The few that she found wearing a necklace, it would always be the same one.

A simple round stone, mayhap a crystal or a gem, but surely out of place against all the finery, especially during the earliest styles of the portraits. Simple, but enhanced by the never missed shine that the artists always gave it.

So simple that it would be so hard to find. So simple, that it's almost common. Familiar.

"Of course." She hissed, giving up and returning to Light's—Arslan's paintings. "Of course, they'd be choosing the most common of things to just make things harder. Common people roots, they would say, most likely. Just to follow the trope of rag to riches, though generational."

She continued muttering, her emotions, even after taking a lot of moments, still running high. "Oh, and add in the fact that it's most likely symbolic to something even more profound. Of the key to magic and power being something far from fab. Something so simple and plain. And some other lesson that to some ears, be so cliché."

She groaned, pausing in her trek just to slump her shoulders back and stare at the ceiling. "I'll need to read back again. Most likely from the very start-t. For t-the nth t-time."

She tightened her hands to fists and pressed them to her stomach. Hard. As much as she could. 

She was already starting to shake and her teeth were already chattering. Adrenaline causing a storm within her belly and a need to do something scratching under her skin. Her emotions slowly unravelling with how she couldn't stop her mind from processing even when it couldn't truly take it yet. She couldn't even start to figure out if all her emotions were hers to begin with.

Breathe in.

> _What would happen?_
> 
> _—if Light meets Kahir before he regains his memories?_
> 
> _—if Kahir discovers Light's existence before they even meet?_
> 
> _—if we tell Light the truth discovered?_

Breathe out.

> _Should we?_
> 
> _If we should, how?_
> 
> _When?_
> 
> _If we shouldn't— **how dare you even think of it in the first place? How dare you even withhold such information when Light did all he could to just help? To do so is wrong! To do so is heartless!**_

Stop. Stop. Stop. A part of her begged while another screamed. Another part fully realized that she had the time outside all of this, to plan and think and whatever was needed. But it was so small. That small part knew, that the sudden fury at her "heartlessness" wasn't hers.

She's doing her best to hold onto that so small a part and feeding it with all the logic she could pull.

"You're shaking again, girl."

"FU—ck!" She screeched, jumping in surprise and almost losing her balance. Her hands flying to her chest as she bent over and tried to keep her heart from metaphorically spilling to the floor. "Fuck."

"That's new. You're a potty mouth."

She felt fabric and warmth around over her head and around her shoulders, making her look up. She was welcomed by a becoming familiar fragrance and brown eyes, golden against the daylight rays.

Chapur, who was tugging at his cloak and tucking it close under her chin. A small smirk on his lips that if it was another time, she could easily imagine the mocking chuckle and the malice in his gaze.

She had to admit though, it was getting harder to do so. Especially, with their recent interactions under the daylight. More so, because the golden gaze that looked at her was gentle.

"Angry again?" Finally, sarcasm. That was familiar. He rubbed his palms over his cloak against her arms, warming her further. "Or are you scared, this time?"

She shook her head and averted her gaze to a point above his shoulder. "Overwhelmed."

"Should I return another time, then?" He stepped back and sought her gaze. Held it more steadily while his hold on the edges of his cloak was just a light grip of fingers. "A revelation for another time?"

Before she could fully digest what was happening, her mouth ran off. Her body turning away to break eye contact only to notice that she physically couldn't, with how he was holding the cloak around her. Her mind, all the while, replaying what had happened and asking every possible question about it. "Seriously? Well, I would rather have it and just run my stress through—"

Digesting. Questioning the mere presence of the Royal Astrologer and trying to find answers. "—instead of waiting in anticipation and—"

Digesting. Trying to remember his words from the most recent to as far as she could remember for this interaction. "stressing more and then—"

Digesting. "—Wait."

Chapur's smile shifted to amusement, "I am here to dare as requested, Body Borrower."

Shit. Everything halted for a moment, but then her heart pounded a new rhythm and her mind scrambled to try to process this among all the others. "You remember?"

"Yes."

"Fuck."

A low chuckle erupted, deep like a rumbling in the caverns, before it slowly died with a flash of a grin.

"Yes." He moved closer and leaned to her ear. "Fuck, indeed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admire how IGG named the characters in Magic Lamp. Especially the ones other than Sinbad and Scheherazade, of course. If you have the time to research the name meanings, they're very interesting.

**Author's Note:**

> This probably falls as a Chapur-route and some more. 
> 
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
